Traumpfade
by Aerial Elephant
Summary: A strange nightmare leaves Italy trapped in a state of unconsciousness. Germany must rescue him once again- but though he is regarded as a rational nation, this time he must conspire with a land that no one else believes exists outside of fairy tales... the Land of Dreams. GerIta with possible other romantic/sexual scenarios. Characters added as story progresses.
1. Exhaustion

Hello everyone!

This story is a cumulation of farfetched headcannons I've had regarding Hetalia, its characters, and my OC for this fandom (whom does not appear in this chapter.)

I ask that you please give it a chance, partly because of my pride in developing this character and the story, and partially because I personally think it's a fairly unique presentation of a tried-and-true bundle of concepts.

Regarding romantic inclinations, I'm a diehard Gerita fan, so I'm sure there will be some present eventually. It's not planned- I intend to let it form organically if it does. There will be no Mary Sue action, although there will likely be sexual content regarding my OC. (It will make sense, and will not infringe upon the integrity of established canon history. Context will be required.)

Thank you very much!

NOTE: Do not read this chapter alone in a dark room. You'll thank me later.

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Where am I?

It's light, it's all light and I don't know where I am, but I'm not afraid.

I'm not afraid and I'm not happy and I'm not sad or scared or angry. I just am, and I don't know where this is.

There is light...and there is more light. I can see something by my feet...but I'm blinded.

Go on...

What? Go where?

Forward. Go forward.

I go.

I do not trip, though the ground is full...I move forward.

And the more I move, the more light there is, it gets brighter. I do not blink, but I do not see.

Go on.

I go forward. It's bright. I feel strange, everything tingles, everything's numb. I feel that I have no control over myself.

More and more until I'm overwhelmed. I can't move anymore.

Touch it.

Touch what?

Touch.

I put my hand out.

...And everything EXPLODES with absolutely GLORIOUS sensation beautiful sound and heavenly music and sight that would make the angels weep and every feeling that anyone could ever experience crashes through and an existensial overwhelmingly powerful moment at the crossroads of nostalgia and excitement overcomes me like a wave in the ocean of time and space stars shine and shoot through me as the planets spin and waltz and I'm confronted with every notion and every idea and every concept that ever was and could be and already existed in the plane of potential because they've always been there waiting for someone to grasp it and take it until the womb of the infathomable mind and produce it and hold it up for the world to see and christen it in the waters of understanding and passion and celebration and I'm so vemently vemently ve-

"Why are you in my bed!?"

"Ve?" Italy sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was covered in crisp white sheets and a heavy but practical quilt. It was dark outside- Italy checked the clock on the plain nightstand and he saw it was quite late.

Germany was sitting next to him, covered from the waist down in the same said bedclothing. His hair hung loose and his face was in his palm. "I asked you why you were in my bed...AGAIN."

Italy thought for a moment. "I don't really know...I guess my body wanted to sleep here so it took me all the way to Germany's house!" He broke a wide smile. "I'm glad, because I really wanted to sleep here too, after all!"

Germany gave Italy an incredulous look. "You sleepwalked all the way over here? How were you not shot by Switzerland?"

Italy happily opened his mouth to respond. "You know what?" Germany interjected, "Nevermind. I don't want to know the answer to that." He rolled over grumpily and settled in.

"So... I can stay, si?" Italy requested with a hinting air.

A sigh. "It's too late to kick you out."

"Wah! Grazie, Germany," Italy cheered as he burrowed happily into the blankets. He snuggled up into Germany's back, but in the event of literally being shrugged off ("Nein!") he opted to curl up in the middle of the bed as close as possible to the other without actually touching him (and took a good majority of the blankets with him.) Content in his position, he began to fall into a sweet and placid slumber.

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Hello, Italy.

Italy waves at me, then turns and skips ahead.

I follow behind him. We're in a field. There are white flowers. The sky is white.

Italy turns to face me. He says something I can't understand, but I know what he says. He told me that I better watch out and Hey Germany wake up-

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Germany opened his eyes.

Groaning a little, he sat up and checked the time. He was shocked- it was past 7am! How had he managed to sleep in so late?

He dashed out of bed and began to prepare for his shower. "Italy! Are you awake?"

Of course, the answer was no. The Italian was still slumbering away in the mess of blankets.

Germany came over to his side of the bed and pulled the blankets off. "Italy, wake up NOW! We are late for training!"

Italy groggily opened his eyes and slowly shifted his body. "Mamma mia," he moaned, "I'm so tired..."

Germany ignored him. "Up now! We have to catch up on our schedule!" He gathered towels and clothing and went off to shower.

Ten minutes later, he returned clean and ready to go just to find Italy asleep again in the same position as before.

Germany drew a breath and bellowed, "_ITALY!_" This scare tactic usually was more than efficient in quickly raising even the deepest sleeping Italy out of bed.

But not so...Italy groaned and shifted again, before asking piteously, "Germany... would you let me sleep today? Per favore... I'm so tired...I can hardly keep my eyes open..."

"Nein! We must train! _Get out of bed!"_

Italy thus drew his drooping body out of bed and proceeded to inch through preparations for the day.

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It was usually that Italy would perk up around breakfast, and after a bit of coffee and a cornetti he was his typical bouncy, energetic (and insufferable) self.

However, rather than catching the wind in his sails, it was as though he had no sails at all. He sat, sipping at his cappuchino and taking small bites of the pastry off of it's gilded saucer.

The rest of the day was no different. Feet dragged through the dirt at a snail's pace. Training was fruitless. Cats were ignored. Attempts to aggravate situations by not reading the mood failed to occur.

"God verdammt," Germany thought, "He's even more useless than usual. I would think that capping that energy would be a good thing, but now he's become dead weight. I should never have thought I would say this, but I should appreciate it when he takes his siesta."

Three o'clock rolled around. Unfortunately (and perhaps again) the unthinkable happened.

"I don't think I'll siesta today," Italy mumbled.

Germany started. "What?!" he practically shouted. "You've been a hapless slug all day, and now you have a chance to redeem yourself and you're going to skip out?"

Italy looked even more tired in the moment, but he nodded his head. "It will be better for me to stay up and...be present..."

"Tch," Germany snorted. "This is hardly the prime example of alert and at the ready. Look at yourself, you're about the fall over! I absolutely insist that you-"

"NO."

Germany was taken aback by the sudden force from Italy. Italy stood there, shaking a little from defying Germany's order (and exhaustion,) but he was resolute. "Si prega di," he mumbled apologetically, "...I don't want to."

Germany considered this. Whatever reason he had for foregoing his "one true Italian quaility" was obviously a more overwhelming force than the threat of German punishment. But why skim over what typically was one of his favorite daily activities? Especially considering his current state? It made no sense.

Germany sighed. "Fine," he finally conceided. "But you will be bringing your morale up to speed at once! We will begin training for this effective immediately."

Italy just sighed, and gave a defeated nod.

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Morale training proved purposeless. Italy's exhaustion got worse. As mornings went by, Germany would find himself more and more having to pull an unconscious Italian's face out of his cappuchino before he drowned in his shifting conscious state. Cornetti and biscotti remained untouched.

Days passed. Dragged feet became collapsed knees on the cround. Training ceased to exist. Friends and neighbors were ignored. Conversations were aggravated with concern for Italy's low energy and decreasing health.

And still, he avoided siestas. Germany realized quickly on that trying to press the siesta issue was pointless. As destructive as it was, it seemed that Italy would sooner let himself be destroyed than to actually succumb to the natural function that was sleep.

Another absolutey strange thing that occurred was that Italy ceased to stop sneaking into Germany's bed. At first Germany was confused, but after some time and a bit of thought he realized quickly exactly what was happening.

Italy was not sleeping. _At all._ He'd simply stayed awake for days on end without resting once. It was insanity. And so he himself pulled an out-of-character move.

"Italy," Germany said, "I insist that you sleep in my bed tonight."

The Italian was immediately on guard. "Wh-what? No, I'm afraid I can't...I-I-I promised I'd sleep at-"

"At whose?" Germany asked.

"At France's house."

Germany glared. "You shouldn't be sleeping in France's nest of depravity."

"Uh? W-Well then I-I mean Spain's house..."

"No better. Cancel those plans."

"I mean, I'm staying at...Fratello's house..."

"That's YOUR house, you idiot!" Germany grabbed his shoulders. "Why are you avoiding sleeping with me? What are you hiding? You used to come over incessantly, invited or not, and now..."

"I just don't want to impose!"

"I promise, it's no trouble," Germany said sarcastically. "Be there at seven p.m sharp."

"But Germany-"

"Seven p.m."

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At nine-thirty Italy arrived, a wreck as usual and fully clothed.

Germany glanced at him. "What, do you plan to sleep in your uniform? Take that off and lie down."

Italy shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I mean...I wasn't planning to stay long, so I figured I shouldn't get naked right now..."

Germany had enough. "Italy," he growled, "Get in bed right now and go to sleep or I will put you there myself!"

Italy shook like a leaf, but remained defiant. "N-n-n-no! No no! I don't want to! I d-don't want to!" As he did, frightened, overwhelmed tears brewed and bubbled over from his eyes.

"God verdammt, Italy, why?!" Germany strode over, grabbed his shoulders, and looked him in the eye. "Why are you not sleeping? It's so unlike you to forgo sleep. Why now? Why will you not sleep?"

Italy looked at him squarely back. "I'm scared."

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At nine-thirty Italy arrived, a wreck as usual and fully clothed.

Germany glanced at him. "What, do you plan to sleep in your uniform? Take that off and lie down."

Italy shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I mean...I wasn't planning to stay long, so I figured I would crack open your ribs and render your ever beating heart from your carcass ..."

Germany had enough. "Italy," he growled, "Get in bed right now and go to sleep or I will put you there myself!"

Italy shook like a leaf, but remained defiant. "N-n-n-no! No no! I don't want to! I d-don't want to!" As he did, frightened, bloody tears burned his cheeks and bubbled over from his eyes.

"God verdammt, Italy, why?!" Germany strode over, grabbed his shoulders, and looked him in the eye. "Why are you not sleeping? It's so unlike you to forgo sleep. Why now? Why will you not sleep?"

Italy looked at him squarely back. "Help me."

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At nine-thirty Italy arrived, a wreck as usual and fully clothed.

Germany glanced at him. "...Wait. What did you just say?"

Italy shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I mean...I wasn't planning to stay long, so I figured I shouldn't get naked right now..."

Germany shook his shoulders. "No, not that- what did you say before that...after that?"

Italy shook like a leaf, and giggled incessantly as he mocked, "N-n-n-no! No no! I don't want to! I d-don't want to! Help me Germany, help me help me HELP ME HELP ME!" And he stared Germany down, he gave a long, soul-chilling howl of laughter and steaming acid tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Italy, what-?!" Germany found himself clinging to his shoulders, though he did not recall moving towards him. He tried to pull away, but he was sealed in place. The vitrirolic tears dripped off of Italy's jaw and onto his hands and wrists, where they bore caustic holes into his skin. His skin tingled and went numb.

"Germany, help me please!"

Germany looked over to the bed. Italy was there, lying flat on his back. His body position looked peaceful, and he appeared to be sound asleep. It didn't even seem that a voice could come that way. But the bleeding tears that dripped from his resting eyes and stained dark on the white bedclothes were the sole chilling indicator of truth.

Germany slowly looked from the Italy on the bed to the one that his hands clung to, and his heart nearly dropped out through his stomach.

He had no face.

Italy had no face. He had a blank impression of a face, like fabric stretched over a skull. But there was absolutely nothing there at all.

And then it was like watching stop-motion animation, the inhuman speed of individual action and the choppy connection of movements as this abomination of Italy twitched his arms up and slapped his hands to his face and began to pull out pieces of his skin. The result was inhuman, inconceivable terror- a wide grin of reflective, razor sharp fangs that stretched from ear to ear, shrouding a black abyss into hunger and terror.

And as Germany stood, frozen by fear and some unearthly power by this demon incarnate, the creature jerked its way out of his grasp and, contorting its legs into steps only achievable by insects and the possessed, climbed its way onto the bed where the true Italy lay sleeping. Sleeping paralyzed. Stuck. Unable to flee.

Germany couldn't move. Germany couldn't speak. Germany could not create a single indication of intention or emotion or anything that could possibly save Italy from sure destruction in the most macabre and unfathomable death in this life and beyond that could possibly be conceived.

And the creature knew it. This demon that wore Italy's visage in pieces, that crawled in its stop-motion fashion on top of Italy's paralyzed chest and laughed and howled and spewed bitter tears and bore glinting fangs and threw his head back and opened his chainsaw jaws and threw himself down onto-

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"hhhHRAAUUUGHHHH!" Germany bolted upright. He was hyperventilating, and his heart was beating several times as fast as it ought.

He looked around, gauging his surroundings. He was in his bed. It was almost six in the morning. Light was starting to peek through the window.

He pulled off the blankets and found Italy lying there, breathing peacefully. There were no blood to be seen or- he brushed it with his fingertips- felt.

Germany breathed a sigh of relief. "Just a dream," he mused. An incredibly deranged, beschissen dream, but a dream nonetheless. It must have been the stress from worrying about Italy, he mused. Ah well, at least he finally got some sleep and this nonsense was stopped.

Germany decided to let Italy sleep in a little, to regain his health. He bathed and dressed, and prepared breakfast for the both of them. Around eight, he returned back upstairs to check on him. He was still asleep, so Germany let him be.

After about nine, Germany began routinely checking him at staunch fifteen minute intervals. At ten, unwilling to delay training any further, he stifled his growing irritation and left. It continued much like this after he came back. Having to monitor Italy's rest regularly made it a very inefficient day for Germany.

Finally, at three o'clock, Germany had enough. "If he wants to sleep all morning and afternoon, then he shouldn't need a siesta as well," he thought, storming up the stairs to the bedroom. "Really, he brought this affliction upon himself, trying to stay awake for days on end for who knows what reason. I should be disciplining him on maintaining his health, not catering to his eccentricities!"

"Italy, that's enough! You can't sleep your life away," Germany called, flinging open the bedroom door. "Get up now!"

Italy continued to sleep.

Germany resorted to his typical tactic of volume. "_ITALY!"_

Oddly enough, still nothing.

Germany strode over and began shaking his shoulders and bellowing right into his face "_**ITALY, GET UP NOW**_**!**"

But it didn't work.

Germany began to get a small tingle in the pit of his stomach. As he slapped Italy's cheek, threw cold water on him, and threatened him with death scenarios in a panicked yell, that tingle grew to a sick feeling and his stomach turned to ice.

Italy didn't wake up.

Italy wasn't going to wake up.

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And that's chapter one! More to come, including OC. I promise most of it will be lighthearted, or at least not so macabre.


	2. Keeping Watch

Thanks for the support so far! Here's chapter number two! I apologize if anyone is out of character.

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"Gomenasai, Germany-san, but...what was it that you said you were doing?"

Germany sighed and held his face in his hand to hide his chagrin. Japan stood next to him, his hands folded politely, but he couldn't hide the confusion and concern on his face and in his voice. It wasn't entirely undeserved...Germany's was unconventionally sitting on the floor in his bedroom with his back resting against the wall, completely surrounded by piles of books, essays, files and documents concerning-

"Dreams?" Japan asked, reading the cover of one of the books. He looked up at Germany. "This isn't a typical topic of interest for you."

"Yes, dreams," Germany said. "I'm gathering information on dreams and the different effects they can have on people. This is the research I've compiled so far, and-"

"This isn't because of Italy, is it?" Japan interrupted.

Germany was silent. Across the room Italy lay asleep in his bed, wrapped up and comfortable and completely unresponsive to any attempts to wake him.

"Germany-san, it's understandable how you feel. We're all concerned about Italy-kun. Goodness knows how he fell so ill so quickly- or how a country even falls into a coma, particularly when his economical, political, and societal health are so vibrant." Japan hesitated before continuing, "But, it's difficult to understand how all this research into dreams is related to his situation."

Germany scowled with frustration- not at Japan, or perhaps just a little with Japan, but moreover with his own actions. His practical side agreed entirely with Japan. His practical side told him to be devoting all efforts towards medical help for Italy. But he couldn't forget the nightmare he had the night before Italy had slipped into his...well, coma, for lack of better term, but Germany remained unconvinced. There was something else to this, something more complex and sinister, something that could not be explained nor solved with purely medical efforts.

It had something to do with that dream, and- perhaps it was his own ego speaking- it had something to do with himself. Or, perhaps he felt responsible. After all, he was there. He had invited- no, insisted- that Italy come to his house to sleep, although for the best intentions.

Perhaps it was simply that horrible, sinking feeling in his chest every time he came into his bedroom to keep vigil (as they had begun to watch over him in shifts,) and seeing Italy wrapped up in the white blankets, with Austria sitting on a chair nearby with a blank face or Prussia standing with his hands on the windowsil staring off into the day or Japan checking Italy's pulse as though he were holding his hand for the last time.

Perhaps it was the eerie feeling every time he sat alone and watched Italy simply breathe and wondering if there was more than met the eye.

Perhaps it was sitting alone and watching him do nothing but sleep, wrapped up angelic and peaceful in the sheets, and thinking that perhaps that's really all it was...

...or it was the question of whether that was it from then on, and that now not-so-unfamiliar feeling of heartbreak the more he questioned it.

The thought of Italy lying there, unmoving, unchanging, forever...

"Any angle we can approach this problem from is an angle worth trying at this point," Germany responded decisively. He stared intently down at a paper he had been making notes on, blinking impetuously.

Japan gave a small, resigned sigh. "All right, Germany-san," he conceided, "but allow me to brew you some more tea then." He gathered the small collection of used cups that had accumulated by Germany's side and headed downstairs to the kitchen, wondering if this sudden change in metiulous cleanliness was a sign of Germany's failing health as well.

Once alone again, Germany rubbed the heels of his palms across his weary eyes and brushed the paper dry before picking up his pen and resuming his work.

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"Germany..."

I looked up from a paper I had forgotten I'd been reading, and I was certain my heart was going to pound out of my chest. I barely managed to breath out, "Italy?!"

Italy was indeed awake, sitting up in bed like he had simply woken up from a siesta. He was smiling the sweetest smile, and I swear he was glowing or perhaps the sun had lit him in a certain way that he had a golden aura around him. He threw his arms wide open, physically beseeching me to come and embrace him.

After worrying for so long, I was pleased to comply. I stood up, numb from sitting, and went over to the side of the bed where Italy sat. He threw his arms around my neck and nuzzled into my shoulder, and I held him in my own.

We sat there for a long moment, me taking in Italy's healthy form and Italy whispering happy nothings into my ear. I couldn't quite make them out, so I leaned in to catch his lips closer to my ear. I could see them, pink and curled into a grin, as he whispered, "Germany, help me."

Wait, what?

I pulled away to look at him, and my stomach froze.

Italy wasn't glowing and happy anymore.

He was pale, with wide, brown bloodshot eyes rolled up into his head and... a gaping, red glistening mouth, and a _**giant fucking hatchet right in the middle of his forehead **_and- oh Gott, there was black blood pouring out from the gash and ragged skin from underneath the rusted metal of the blade down the bridge of his nose and pooling in his eyes and mouth and dripping off the side of his jaw and draining into his long arduous howl of a mouth, and- I ripped myself away from him, and he flopped onto the pillows and he was covered in blood and gashes and burns and blisters and maggots and "Germany, help me please help me," how the hell could he even speak, he wasn't just lying there now, he was dead fucking dead and rotting before my eyes and yet even now I could see him speaking with a still mouth Germany help me come find me and I swear something is right behind me now and I can't turn around, I'm completely frozen and all I can do is stare at this horror monstrosity calaclysm that is Italy's poor desecrated mangled bloody corpse-

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"Germany-san, wake up!"

Germany threw his head up and looked around wildly. Ficken, fuck, FUCK! Italy's dead and the world is shaking and something was hitting him from behind and someone was screaming-

"WEST!" Someone slapped him across the face. It took Germany a moment to realize that person was Prussia, who had been shaking his shoulders. The thing that was hitting him from behind was the wall he had been lying against, and the person screaming was himself. He quickly forced himself to stop, but could not quell his hyperventilation.

_ITALY! _Germany tried to throw himself up from the floor, but was stopped by Prussia holding him down and genuine tingling numbness in his legs. "Italy- we have to get treatment for him, Italy's been mortally wounded, we have to get him to a hospital immediately, the hatchet- the hatchet in his gottverdamnt forehead-!"

"West, calm down," Prussia practically yelled over Germany's rambling, "It was just a dream! Ita-chan is okay, he's still asleep but he's not hurt at all! Look!"

Germany did look, and it was true- Italy was lying in the same position as he always had been, all wrapped up in that damn white blanket and breathing with that deceptive sense of tranquility. Germany looked up at the others- Prussia kneeling next to him with an uncharacteristic sense of concern at his outburst, and Japan standing next to him with his hands clutching his shoulders.

A sense of shame washed over him for causing his bruder and ally concern for him over nothing. That sense of shame was followed by tsunami of exhaustion to wash away the adrenaline from the nightmare.

"West, I'll take over watching Ita-chan," Prussia said, "so for Gott's sake go get some sleep. Some real sleep in a bed that's not in this room."

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Thanks again! Next chapter will have some juicy stuff. :)


	3. Unresearch

Chapter Three! Shit's gettin' weird...

For the record, this is supposed to take place sometime in the 50s-60s.

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Germany stood in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

Coffee wasn't normally something he would partake in during the evening, but he was starting to lose his grip on his consciousness.

He was exasperated. His research on sleep and dreams was turning up dead end after dead end. Night after night, day after day, and nothing of use in the documents accessible to him. The pages that he found were lacking in depth or foundation- there simply was not enough knowledge on the subject of dreams to create enough concrete facts.

There was knowledge. At least, there was research. But it all laid on the other side of his borders, and there was yet a country willing to share it with him.

Worse than that, he was now a laughingstock among said countries. When he had asked them if they had any material on the subject, it was a lucky incident if they simply said no. Most would collapse with laughter, or worse...

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"Ah yes! What you speak of is Zhuangzhou Meng Die. It is a very old concept, where the philosopher believes that after dreaming he is a butterfly, that perhaps it is the butterfly that dreams of being the man," China replied with overt enthusiasm. He was hiding snickers behind his sleeves. "It would be very helpful to you. That is, if it is something you choose to believe in."

"I'm more ready to believe it than I would like to admit," Germany said.

"So then...you believe you are actually a butterfly having a man-dream?" China started to laugh harder.

"What? No, what are you asking-?!"

"Do you enjoy flower-licking, butterfly? Do your colors mean you're toxic?!" He thus lost his composure, breaking into hysterical laughter.

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"Gerrit Mannoury? What interest do you have in philosophical mathematics?" Netherlands questioned him with a furrowed brow.

"Nein, I'm interested in...in research following mental consciousness during sleep...What about Van Eeden? Do you have information on-"

"-Ah, you're one of those types." Netherlands narrowed his eyes. "My apologies, I have nothing to offer you to aid your research."

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"So...the Ancient Greeks believed that dreams contained prophesies pertaining to the waking world?"

"Sure," replied Greece.

Germany felt a glimmer of hope. "Would you happen to have material on the subject?"

Greece let out a little sigh. "No," he replied, "but my mother would."

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"Ah, oui, so you wish to know about the great Rene Descartes, est-ce vrai?"

"Ja, that is right."

"I never realized that passion and emotions were so important to such a country as yourself," France said with a sly grin. "That is, besides anger...hate...regret?"

Germany scowled. "I simply ask that I may see what works you have on this subject, to benefit research of my own. I have no interest in besetting anyone- What the hell? What are you doing?! Where are your clothes?!"

"Ah, Germany, you may be a man of passions," France said, draped languidly and now quite nudedly over a chair. "But, you are not the only one! Hon hon hon!"

"Gott Verdammt, man, I just want to borrow a book!"

"Every man has his price."

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"Ah yes, SIgmund Freud. One of the most brilliant psychologist the world has yet to know," Austria said wistfully. "Naturally you would be drawn to his work. His brilliance is second to no one."

Germany rolled his eyes. "Ja, ja, of course. Do you have any books regarding his work?"

"Naturally I have a complete collection of his works. Why do you ask?" Austria looked at Germany over the rim of his glasses. "Are you finally coming to terms with your oedipal complex?"

"What? Nein!" Germany exclaimed, "I want to research his thoughts into dreams and their relationship to the unconscious."

"Germany, does this have to do with Italy?..."

Germany found it difficult to respond. Of course it had to do with Italy. But... trying to explain that made it seem like a silly-

"-...Because if that's the case, it's to be certain this is no time to be performing reseach on your strange sexual endeavors towards him."

Germany was now flabbergasted beyond speech.

Austria continued, "Perhaps you have hysteria. It is typically considered to afflict females, but who on earth knows what could be the matter with _you_. There are special tools available for treatment, you know- or otherwise musical therapy may be of use to you..."

Germany was no longer present.

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Should have known better than to believe that others would help. Who would understand this plight? Moreover, with this reputation, who would care?

Laughing...all of them are laughing...Gott I wish they would stop.

Even Japan thinks this is too much. He won't help me. But he knows the most about dreams, knows more about them. He told me about this from the start, did he not?

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"There are creatures," said Japan, "that will cause troubles in sleep. There are ghosts that will place one in a state of kanashibari- that is, metal tied- and demons that will eat the dreams of those under arrest.

"...Perhaps you should ask the Baku to eat these dreams of yours? You could use a night of rest."

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He's no help to me.

I just don't know what to do anymore. No one will help me- no one will talk to me. I've been working at this for the better part of a week, awake for the better part of it. Awake for all of it.

I understand why Italy refused to sleep. How little one can accomplish under sleep's metal-bound grip. How little control one can keep.

I stood in the kitchen, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

His hand began to shake. Damned nerves. Coffee jerked its way out of the cup, slid along the side of the stark porcelain white, pooled on the countertop. Another mess.

A sweet and steaming tiled sea. blue brown choppy waves. The sailors did their best to save their little porcelain ship, but they were thwarted by the handlepiece-

There was a piercing sound and sweet lightness. Germany looked down. There was coffee and porcelain shards all over my boots. Brown and black. Blue above in the peripheral.

The piercing sound was laughter. Germany looked up. France was laughing at him, although he wasn't there to do it himself, the dumb shit. Shitty little coward, laughing at him at his own convenience. Naturally he would find away to deliver his voice overseas to taunt him. His vocal chords vibrated in the safety of a cardboard box. Who would deliver such an infernal package? Who could stand the buzz and chatter of such a delivery?

Everything is so hazy now, I can hardly stand up. The world was fuzzy at the corners and stars pierced his vision. Germany slid his hands along the floor, willing himself to stay up. Heart to the sky, nose to the ground, said the shepherd, as he lead the search for the perpetrator. Germany could see his nose glisten- each individual cell working in unison in their office to produce the necessary vaporwork to come to the conclusion of a scent, and when the conclusion was reached the mailbox was full and the flags perked at the top of his head like two fuzzy ears.

I found the perpetrator.

The perpetration percolated everywhere about.

The stars hung fuzzy from the floor and the room was abuzz

with the singing of sweet rabbits in their nestled

fruit baskets, the grande piano was plucking away at

the feathers of a screaming raped chicken, and the eggs

poured from her in a rainbow of broken yolken colors,

while the torte tarts toro'd the forks with the dishcloths

until one by one they were pierced in the running

of the tools, and the chairs stacked themselves to the rythym of

the lovesong that visually pierced the walls as

it floated along the edge of the ceiling and

broke its way through the crack in the door. The mugs l

ined up like lemurs as they rolled o

ne by one to their suicides, shattered dea

ths piled with a pie

rced s

hriek and a

pierced crash up

on the sky, and t

he ceilin

g lights s

trobed a rain

bow of col

ors that had ne

ver been seen before, at

least not in such bright cla

rity, and it brought a sink

ing sense of

FEAR

that there was more than met the eye,

and the kitchen was alive

vibrating with color

and music

and fear

and sadness

and there was a child

sitting in a white fort.

Everything was bursting with color.

Color and sound.

Infernal sound.

Laughter. Humiliation.

Despair. Sobbing.

But the inside of the fort had no color, like the child.

The fort was white.

The child was white.

White hair, face, body.

The child sat, legs tucked against the body and arms wrapped around the shins. A small ball of peace and serenity. An impenetrable anchor against the inhibitors of sanity.

I want to come in.

Please let me in.

It's so noisy out here.

The ground is biting me.

I fear for my life.

No indication. Is this child alive? Is everything vibrating? What is that sound?

Please let me in.

Please let me in.

Please let me

Please

In

Come in.

Yes, please come in.

.

I crawled inside.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

..

...

...Peace.

.

.

It's so quiet. Everything is white and so quiet.

.

.

.

.

I look at the child. It hasn't moved.

.

Is this child a boy?

.

.

Or is this child a girl?

.

I don't know.

.

The child smiles. He she it is a brilliant white, skin hair fingernails clothing. Everything is stark white.

She he it slowly unfolds its her his legs and unwraps her his its arms from his her its knees. For a moment it he she simply sits there, slouched limp, limbs placid. Then moment next, its his her head rises and turns towards me.

It is a strange sight, but one free of fear. This child has closed eyes. The face is a mask of white...a square of straightforwardness, and yet forward of nothing.

A small smile curls the corners of the lips, and the child extends her its his hand. The palm is a curving plane, the fingers a collective. An invitation.

I extend my hand in reply, and place my palm against the other, curl my fingers around the edge and accept.

.

.

.

.

.

_You don't have to worry anymore._

_Go find it._

_You have so much potential inside of you._

_For such a rough and rational country, you have such a soft and gentle spot...the core of your iron heart is as soft as a baby's grip, warm as lover's lips, and there's a fire there white as hot molten iron ore._

_You've done so many terrible things in your life...you've contributed your share to the worst the world has ever seen._

_But how long will you pay for these atrocities?_

_You are your devistations_

_Your horors_

_Your crimes_

_Your punishment_

_Your retribution_

_Your growth_

_And ultimately,_

_your rebirth._

_Oh, the things you'll do, my friend...the things you'll accomplish in due time. Your technology and will surpass your peers, as it always has. Automotives. Telecommunication. Computation Machinery that will take you places you never could have dreamed._

_Your science is and will furthermore be the envy of the planet. Medicine. Psychology. Physics. Chemistry will expand with Electromagnetic Radioactivity research. Aerodynamics will take all of you to the sky and beyond._

_Honestly, how many Nobel Prizes can you receive before your weary arms grow tired?_

_But ultimately, it is you who will bare the most of your soul. You will be the first to accept, to reconsider what is, and to encourage others to accept anew as well. It may seem counter to how you've established yourself now, and you will not be the first to wear your heart on your sleeve. But it is you who will lead the rest to renewal. _

_Your renaissance is coming. _

_Do not worry about what you've done._

_Do not worry about what you feel now. _

_You have so much potential. So much more than any other country alive at this moment. The things you will give back to the world is insurmountable._

_So you don't have to worry._

_Keep going, Germany. You're doing fine._

_._

_._

_._

_Also Italy is waiting for you._

.

Prussia stood in the kitchen. He had intended to pour himself a cup of coffee.

What he found instead was a mess. Coffee was splashed all over the kitchen counter and floor. The coffeemaker was hissing angrily, left hot and running on steam. Shards of porcelain covered the floor. Milk and sugar and other condiments were left out in a haphazard fashion.

Prussia wrinkled his nose in disgust. Despite his gegariousness, he hated messes just as much as his bruder was infamous for.

Speaking of which...

"West?" Prussia called for him as he grabbed a dishcloth and began to mop up the coffee. As he picked up some of the shards of porcelain on the ground, he noticed that the coffee extended into a smear trailing away from the coffee station. He followed this trail on his hands and knees, sopping up the coffee with the cloth. He followed it all the way to their white wooden table and then stopped short, stunned. "West?!"

Germany was sitting under the table. His clothes were soaked with coffee. He was slouched over, curled up with his legs against his chest and his head resting against the table leg. He was awake, but barely conscious- eyes unfocused, breathing low, a faraway look.

Prussia waved his hand in front of his eyes. "West."

No response.

Prussia snapped his fingers next to his ears. "WEST."

Presence clicked back into Germany's face. He slowly unfurled his legs and sat up. "What...what is this...?"

"West, what the hell are you doing under the table?" Prussia stared him down.

Germany stared back. "I'm not under the table."

"You are too under the table."

Germany blinked, and looked. "What the hell?! Why am I under the table?!"

"You tell me that. Also, you left the kitchen a mess."

Germany crawled out from under the table and tried in vain to make the best of his stained clothing. He could feel his face growing hot. "Really, I don't even remember this happening. I was just making coffee."

"Really now, didn't your big bruder teach you how to make coffee when you were little?" Prussia smirked. "And don't you know how to clean up after yourself?"

It was all just in jest. Prussia was just being an egotistical jerk, as usual. But behind that casual, condescending smirk, there was just that faintest trace of something else. Something else called concern.

Germany finished cleaning up the broken shards of porcelain and spilled coffee. He didn't like it at all- being looked at like he might break himself. But he couldn't blame his bruder for feeling this way. After all, no one was more confused or worried than himself.

.

.

.

End of Chapter Three.


End file.
